He asked: “Why would you do that?!” Oh, did it hurt. There was no make-wrong in his question, no accusation, no attack. Only puzzlement. “Why would you try to change others? Why would you want to force others to grow? Don’t you know that everyone is where they are, working with what they have, however they can? I thought you would know that”.

She asked: “How can we make others understand?! How can we make them see? If we could just do something, catapult them away from Earth and up up up to the moon so that they could see the world as it is and then something in them would click!”

I listened to her and I remembered his question: why would you do that? Why would you want to force others to grow?

And I felt ashamed of myself for having tried, for having tried to make others see, for it was not out of compassion that I’ve done that. It was not to serve others and it was not to help them. It was to make them. It was to change them. It was forced. It was an attack. I was an attacker.

And so when she asked “how can we make people see, how can we make them understand, how can we make them change?” I said:

“You know, I found the easiest and by far the fastest way to change people, to change the world: when I see, when I understand, when something in me clicks, then the world becomes a wonderland and people are lovely and delightful”.

That is all I need to do to shift the world and change everyone — see, understand, realize — myself.

There was a rustle and then a sigh, in the bushes. Then a creak. I froze, strained my eyes to pierce the misty darkness but it was no use. The moon was nowhere to be seen, still asleep or else hidden by the fog, and the world was swatted with a dark, black night. I was alone with trees and … with whatever they hid among them. Or whomever.

A host of monsters, of sprites and imps sprung to my mind. I imagined them, yes, yet they were no less real, not to me, and the hot, sickening wave of fear rose and broke over my head soaking me down to my feet. I wanted to run. Telling myself that I was being silly, imagining things, was no use. I knew I was imagining things. That made them no less real, not to me.

I did not run, I stood and felt the fear because I thought: whatever happens I am here. Whatever comes out of those bushes it cannot make me lose myself. I am here. And as long as I am here – I am safe.

It can take my life away, this monster hiding in the darkness, it can pounce and grab me and drag me to another realm but it will still be me, I will still have myself. It can take Chris away, take my home away, take my stuff away. It can take away my body’s health, it can end this body’s life, but it cannot take away me. No matter where I am, no matter what I lose – I can still be. I can always be. I can remain myself.

And as long as I don’t lose myself, as long as I am here – I am safe.

No! No, there will never be a discussion on this subject! No, I will not talk about this!

Why? Because it is like putting my hands in a mud and twisting my fingers, splashing, spraying slime and decay all over my face.

I will not talk about what “they are doing”. I will not talk about how they cheat, how they lie, how they control, how they destroy, how they kill. I will not talk about conspiracies, secret societies, evil that lies behind every fact ready to pounce.

I will not talk about this.

I will not speculate on “what really happened,” on who and what and why.

Why? Because of the fear, because of the anger, because of the terror that screams from behind every word. I will not  listen to those words.

Why? Because I can see, if he does not, the meaning of his speech. He believes that his story of lies and deceits and conspiracies describes reality – I know that his story creates it. Every suspicion, every doubt, every accusation and every attack creates a world full of danger, full of anger, full of fear.

Yes, he says that this is what the world is like and he only describes it. He only defends himself from it. He only gives you tools to defend yourself.

He says that, and he believes it, but I listen and I hear not a description — but a creation.

I do not want to live in that world.

I am tremendously consistent, you know? Interestingly so, since my actions and choices often seem random, haphazard, contradictory. And yet they take me exactly where I want to go.

Where is that? I don’t know.

I can see this clearly looking back, and I can feel it clearly right at this moment: there IS something that feels like purpose. There is something that I am … not “guided by” exactly, not “following,” but rather consistently creating.

What is that? I don’t know.

But it is, I can clearly see it — it is. There is a purpose and a goal in my life. I am creating it as I go. Step by step, day by day I am creating my purpose. And yes, of course I wish I could look ahead and see where I will be at the end of this journey but the truth is that I can’t.

I can’t see the end because I haven’t created it yet.